Tapdancing on a Razor
by Apapazukamori
Summary: A collection of X drabbles in no particular order. Features characters from X, TB and CCD.  Some gen, AU, het, BL and yuri content.
1. What You Don't See

What You Don't See 

**What You Don't See**

The sakura were blooming again; their petals drifted lazily on the late spring breeze. The already grounded petals swirled around the feet of a young man -- now sixteen and so much older -- as he walked into the small park by the hospital. His shoulders rose and fell heavily but his pace didn't slow as he crossed the dirt playfield to a lone figure sitting on a bench. Kamui stopped a meter or two in front of him; glancing down at the face he remembered so clearly, the face that had come to symbolize so many things in such a short time. 

Family. Love. Grief. Abject Misery. 

Survival and sacrifice. 

The power of his own Wish and the redemption of those least deserving it. 

Fuuma didn't turn to look at him. There would be no point in doing so. The older boy's dark-haired head tilted to the side. "I was wondering when you'd come." 

Kamui's voice fought its way out from a painfully tight throat. "I only just learned what happened." He stepped forward, halving the distance between them. "How are you doing?" 

"I'm fine." 

Kamui moved to one side, sitting beside him. Fuuma continued to stare straight ahead. 

"I... I'm glad to hear that." 

"How are you?" 

The tension in Kamui's back lessened a bit; it was easier, somehow, to talk about himself. "I'm all right. I got out of hospital last month and Nokoru-san's letting me stay with him for a while." 

Fuuma nodded and the silence between the pair lengthened. If it bothered the older boy, he didn't show it. However, Kamui could only handle the tension for so long. He hadn't expected anything when he'd come here. But now that they were together, after so much had passed between them, his hopes began to run their own course. 

"Can I ask you something?" A nod. "Why?" 

"Why?" 

"Yes." 

Again, the silence descended, pushing them further apart without them ever having to move. 

"Because I hated you," Fuuma said finally, his tone flat. 

Kamui's heart clenched. "You--" 

"And I loved you." Slowly, Fuuma turned to face him. His eyes were still the same color, but there was nothing in them. Fate never gave without taking something for herself. "Would you have fought as hard if nothing had changed?" 

Stunned, Kamui sat back. He bit back his immediate answer, knowing his knee-jerk reaction wouldn't be the truth. Minutes later, he managed a soft reply. "No." He reached out and placed a tentative hand on Fuuma's cheek, startling the older boy. But Fuuma didn't pull away. "I never saw you as an enemy, even then." 

Dark brows furrowed, caution writing its way into Fuuma's expression. "What do you see now?" 

"I don't know." 

A soft sound on the air made Kamui realized Fuuma was laughing. And he realized he'd never heard it before. Slowly turning his face upward, away from Kamui's hand, Fuuma closed his useless eyes as a petal drifted over his cheek. 

"That makes two of us." 


	2. Despite the Best Intentions

Despite the Best Intentions 

**Despite the Best Intentions**

When Fuuma was born, Kyougo could almost fit him in one hand. A few weeks later, the baby's first smile had been for him. 

But destiny couldn't be ignored. Kyougo did his best not resent Tooru or Kamui, and usually succeeded. He lent support to the woman who took his wife and the boy who would claim his son. 

The Princess in the Diet Building hoped Tooru's son would save the world from the faceless Antichrist that haunted the Princess' dreams. 

She prayed that Kamui would choose to be the hero. 

Without wondering who would have to be the villain. 


	3. Melting

Melting 

**Melting**

Ice shifted in the glass as it melted, reflecting the stars into a lightless room. He didn't need a lamp to remind him of more fake warmth; halfhearted and grim smiles on faces far too young to know such grief. As the days became shorter, the sense of tension became more and more palpable. 

The ice in his glass melted a little more. 

Behind half-closed eyes, the Imonoyama watched his longest companion, his oldest friend, pass into the room without a sound. He heard the disapproving sigh that always forecast some kind of discipline. It'd been so long since it had been required, he nearly welcomed it; it reminded him of simpler times. 

"How much have you had?" 

His tongue stirred, unusually heavy in his mouth. His reply was less than witty. "Too much," he murmured as the room began to tilt gently. "Not enough." 

The glass vanished from the corner of his eye; another small bit of light gone. 

"Enough for tonight, I think." The reproach he expected was absent, the tone almost sympathetic. He wanted the reprimand, feeling so much made him tired. He had been trained in the art of polite distance in a time when such behavior was unnecessary. When he most wished for it, it left him foundering. 

He hadn't expected to feel anything for those children. But they shared his home and he'd become accustomed to their presences. On light business days, he often looked out the office window and caught sight of them walking to classes. The pair who smiled despite everything and the one who was too cautious to. The one who couldn't because he had lost too much. He had become too attached. If they failed to survive, the loss would affect him on a level he was not comfortable admitting. 

But he felt that he had to mourn for them, for he worried that no one else would. 


	4. Human

Human 

**Human**

There was something oddly satisfying about ice cream in November. In a completely childish fashion, the consumer tells the season that he or she doesn't care how cold it is, he or she will continue to eat what is enjoyed and the seasons won't dictate how life is lived. 

Satisfying, childish... and typically human. 

Far be it for nature to determine how a person should live; it isn't as if human beings had been living in accordance with nature since time out of mind. Humans lived, generally, chose near fertile land and water, not in the mountains, deserts or ice caps. You didn't wear a parka in hundred-degree heat or a bathing suit outside in winter. Common sense? Sure. Correctly attributed? Never. 

How strange it seemed, then, that a creature so in tune with how they interacted with nature could be so completely oblivious to the fact that they did. Even breaking the concept down didn't help it make sense. 

Hence, the joy of triple chocolate fudge two months before the end of the year. 

Or the end of the world. 

Now that was a joy completely separate from irony. 

Below him, the little ants moved in their concrete hill, coming and going and coming again without ever really knowing why beyond the next five minutes. Or ten. Or the next day. He doubted more than five or six had even considered what was going to happen in the next year. The fact that there may not be a next year was not the point. Immediacy, the "me-me-now-now" mentality was all that got through to most of them. 

There were exceptions, of course. Unfortunately, there weren't many, even within his own rapidly shrinking group. Of course, an argument could be made for some of the people in his group, but in the end it really didn't matter. Since he fell into the rule and not the exception, everyone was doomed anyway. 

In a way, that pissed him off. He was still human, after all. Like the childish glee of spitting in the face of the oncoming winter, he had brief flashes of irritation that the boy and his self-serving Wish couldn't possibly accomplish what he was supposed to. It made his job simpler, but he would have liked to see if Humanity had ever really had a chance at redemption. 

To see if he stood a chance to be redeemed. 

He was still human, after all. 


	5. Unforgotten

Unforgotten 

**Unforgotten**

The little girl gripped her doll tightly by the hand as she tiptoed into her parents' bedroom. She liked it in there because it was cooler in there than in the rest of the small house, and she always found something interesting. Her father said curiosity ran in the family, but she didn't really know what that meant. 

She passed her mother's jewelry box and left it untouched; she had already played dress-up yesterday and the day before. Her doll wanted to play with her father's neck ties, but the last time they did that, they had gotten in trouble. After a moment, she tucked her doll under her arm and wriggled under the bed, and imagined she was a monster in a cave. 

Unfortunately, the monster became very bored with no ankles outside her cave to grab onto. Sighing, she crawled out from under the bed and poked through one of the drawers in her mother's nightstand. Underneath the books and sewing materials, she found a battered looking shoebox. The tape holding the box closed had yellowed and become brittle; it snapped when she pulled the lid off. 

A small pile of photographs lay in the box's shallow bottom. The little girl plopped onto the floor and picked them up, looking through them. She recognized her mother and father, but her father's hair was not as grey as it was now. Many of the photos had her parents with lots of smiling adults she didn't recognize. Several of the photos at the bottom of the pile stuck together, and when she pried the bottom one off, she made a little surprised sound. 

In the picture, her parents smiled and held the hands of a little boy. His grin took up half his face, so she could barely see his eyes. He looked like a boy in her neighborhood that was always running around and making a lot of noise, but she didn't know why he would be in a photograph with her parents that she wasn't in, too. The little girl frowned and turned over the picture. On the back was some writing -- probably a name -- that she couldn't read, and the date of a summer fourteen years ago. 

"Chieko! We told you to stop coming in here by yourself!" 

The little girl held up the picture and waved it at her mother. "Mama, who is he?" 

Her mother took the picture from her, holding the photo by the edges and cupping the back with her other hand. Chieko tilted her head to the side; she had never seen her mother wear an expression like that. Like she wanted to smile and cry at the same time. With a deep breath, her mother placed the photo back in the box and placed the lid back on top. "He's your big brother, darling," she said in a soft, funny sounding voice. "He... went away when he was three. Now please go outside and play." 

Obedient despite her curiosity, Chieko ran outside and rode her tricycle around the small parking lot across from her house. Later, while her mother washed the dinner dishes, the little girl sneaked back to the drawer where she found the photograph, but when she opened the box, her brother's picture was gone. 


	6. Disguises

Disguises 

**Disguises**

There was a certain sterility in being anonymous, matched only by the decadence of not being called to task for anything he did while wearing the mask. Though, among the faceless elite of Tokyo's students, his desire to cause mischief dampened into staring a little too hard into people's faces to try and recognize his classmates. Masks on other people made him nervous, and had since the one on his best friend's face melted into a nightmare from which it took three days to awaken from. Sometimes he wondered if he'd ever fully woken from the dream; after a pair of encounters with his twin star, the doubt was more potent than ever. 

He'd chosen against a full-body costume for the campus Halloween ball; anything cumbersome would cause nothing but trouble. His harlequin's mask covered his eyes, and though Sorata had teased him as a spoilsport, he felt it to be enough. Those who knew him, few as they were, would recognize him, and the rest could wonder to their hearts' content. For some, the costumes did little to hide their wearers; he waved slowly to Segawa-kun, who was covered from head to toe in a ghost costume, somehow what made the exuberant first year himself was unable to be concealed. 

Weaving between dancing princesses (which wasn't a costume, as far as he was concerned), clowns, devils and witches, he watched the small snapshot of humanity and reflected that his choice -- despite his personal troubles -- had been the right one. 

A hand closed around his elbow and he stiffened, sensing the overwhelming power of the last person he expected to meet here... though he'd hoped he would. 

He didn't turn, nor did the other signal a desire to see his face. Nothing to indicate that he wanted to see him... giving no confirmation to their gullible human eyes that this meeting was even taking place. The hand at his elbow fell away, leaving only the vague sense of body heat at his back and a voice at his ear. 

"Your costume isn't what I expected." 

"I wish I could say the same for yours," he returned in a low voice, stilling the urge to turn around and face the consequences of a better comeback. 

The voice close to his ear stirred his hair and the room seemed to be too loud as he strained to hear. "You don't seem to like my disguises." 

His voice caught in his throat, indignant, bitter, and longing, before scraping free. "They're too complete." 

Others swirled past them; if they noticed two boys -- one black and white and violet shadowed by one in red and black -- standing as two rocks a sea of color, none stopped and tried to move them. The music rose around the center of the whirlpool, infusing their wall to guard against sound as well as sight, on a night when everything was done or said by anyone who wished to. 

And one Wish was particularly strong tonight, though the focus of it knew nothing of it. 

"I'm sorry." 


	7. The Elephant in the Room

The Elephant in the Room 

**The Elephant in the Room**

His eyes truly are like amethysts. 

In the right light, they sparkle; so unique and startling in such a pale face. And they are as cold as any stone dug out of the earth. At times, they could be similarly lifeless. 

He wastes away in the bright, warm sun which never seems to touch him, for all the time he spends wandering up and down the beaches. Or so she's told, anyhow. She rarely has the opportunity to see him. The years of loneliness, of bitterness and neglect have reduced them to little more than roommates, sharing a space and nothing else with each other. She loves him in her own way, and he loves her in his, but neither of them will ever forgive the other for certain thefts. 

Maybe she should be ashamed of herself; she has so little time left with him, before fate interferes with her life once again. Any sane mother who knew the end was near would find any reason, any excuse, to be with her only son. A son who will suffer in his life as much as she has in hers. 

She can't help but feel, deep within the darkest part of her heart -- the only part of it which is still intact after all these years, the only part left that is truly hers -- that he should. 

The princess had warned her of this resentment, long ago, but she had thought herself better than that. She couldn't believe that she could feel anything but the purest love for the boy she would bring into the world he would eventually save. 

She'd held onto this arrogance until she'd met Saya. 

Nothing in her life would replace losing the one she had loved so completely. Knowing what she did, that Saya would die for her in this grand diorama of fate's design... the knowledge poisoned her heart against Kamui. 

His birth took her from her family, from her beloved little sister, from her hometown, from her future... and from her. 

Perhaps her distance was what led him to believe all those who are shown love will eventually be hurt by its departure. 

Perhaps she'd introduced Kamui to Saya's children out of spite, not knowing that fate in its infinite capacity for cruelty had already given Kamui over to the one who would eventually shatter his heart. 

Perhaps her distance was a roundabout way of trying to prevent such a thing from happening. Her one attempt to spit in the face of that which had condemned her to a short life of whirlwind passion and love and a lonely death. 

Perhaps... 

She doesn't know and probably won't ever. 

And she doesn't care. 

It won't change a thing. 


	8. Things Unspoken

Things Unspoken 

**Things Unspoken**

"Please don't argue with me." 

Her eyes are wide and shining, hinting at tears she wouldn't let him see. "But our ages shouldn't matter!" 

"They do, Missy." Her hair is soft as his hand presses against it, gently firm. "I'm sorry." 

In the conversations he has in his head, this is where he walks away. He walks away and leaves her to her destiny; hoping that if she lives, she can find someone better suited to her. 

"Sorry to keep you waiting!" 

But then he sees her in person; watches her smile and chatter and glow. 

And he stands still. 


	9. Summer

Summer 

**Summer**

One of them played with the firefly-catching net, impatiently waiting for twilight to fall and bring out the fairy lights. 

One of them smiled and cast sidelong glances at him, indulging him, even though the city rarely had fireflies. Perhaps they would tonight. 

One of them sat between the two boys, kicking her legs idly and trying to avoid the seeds scattered through the last slice of watermelon. 

"Is it night yet?" 

"You just asked that, silly.■ 

"A few more minutes.■ 

They never caught fireflies that night, nor any other. However, all three mysteriously ended up with sticky, watermelon-scented hands. 


	10. Unit

Unit 

**Unit**

It was rare for them not to be together. Extremely rare. The three were, after all, a unit; one or two missing from the picture made it look unbalanced. 

But today, two of them wandered away from the third, seeking adventure and away from the evil that was the babysitter. 

Four hours later, frantic adults had to use ladders to pull them down from the tree. After tears were dried and bandages applied, the unit was once again secure; although, the eldest did receive a gentle scolding. 

The babysitter received an extra thousand yen and was never heard from again. 


	11. Little Things

The Little Things 

**The Little Things**

"The little things are the ones that matter." 

He'd heard that saying often enough; usually used in conjunction with "it's the thought that counts" or "simple is best." Such things were easily said and usually ignored, as the recipients had heard them all before. 

Standing separated by several tons of red-and-white-painted girders, he wondered yet again why he couldn't quite breathe in the presence of his Twin Star. 

Little things... little words. One little word stuck stubbornly in his throat and choked him. 

It came easily enough when shoved out by a sword's point. 

But by then, it didn't matter. 


End file.
